


Nostalgia

by ant5b



Category: DuckTales (Cartoon 2017)
Genre: AU, Donald realizes he has a lot to apologize for, Huey and Dewey don't let their weird new uncle ride away on the back of a giant krill, Slight Fenton/Fethry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-19
Updated: 2019-04-19
Packaged: 2020-01-16 08:19:57
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,749
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18517570
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ant5b/pseuds/ant5b
Summary: Fethry’s been back for two months.He and Donald still haven't spoken.





	Nostalgia

Donald could never forget his dread upon realizing that Huey and Dewey had stolen away in a submarine to seek out his cousin. Fethry wasn’t a bad person, but he was careless, and dangerous to be around at the best of times. His interests were varied and strange and he had the attention span of a magpie, drawn to every shiny new thing. 

That was the Fethry he knew, five years before he shut himself in a tin can at the bottom of the ocean. 

That wasn’t the Fethry that followed Huey and Dewey into the mansion. 

He looked so much older than Donald remembered, as if those five years had actually been fifteen. There were lines around his eyes than hadn’t been there before, something tired in the minute curl of his beak. He was thin enough to be unhealthy, not quite emaciated but near enough. He was still wearing the red beanie Della had given him for his birthday, the last one she’d been around for. 

Fethry remained silent as Huey and Dewey explained to a gobsmacked Donald, Scrooge and Beakley where they had gone and what had happened. If Donald had been worried before, it was nothing compared to how he felt when his boys detailed to him a story about a crumbling, derelict lab, deadly hydrothermal vents, and the monstrous mutant krill that saved them all. 

“Her name’s Mitzy,” Fethry offered, the first thing Donald had heard his cousin say in five years. His eyes looked a little glassy, and he was swaying on his feet. “I’m pretty sure she’s in the bay right now.”

And Scrooge, because he was all about apologizing for his mistakes now, stepped over to Fethry and gently clasped his arms. 

“I’m sorry I never responded to your calls, lad. I stuck you on a sinking ship without ever realizing it. You never should have had to go through all of that.”

Fethry shrugged, still looking unsteady. “I never thought you did it on purpose, Uncle Scrooge.”

Scrooge’s smile was bittersweet. “Nonetheless, Fethry, lad. You’re welcome to stay at the mansion for however long you need until you back on your feet.”

“That sounds nice,” Fethry replied, his smile overly wide and more than a little spacey. 

He then proceeded to pass out in Scrooge’s arms. 

 

Fethry was sick with fever for three days. 

Scrooge had a doctor come to the mansion that first night, when the sight of Fethry collapsing, boneless, in the foyer sent them all into a panic. She examined him for a few moments, pale and wrung out in the bed of one of the dozen spare bedrooms. The doctor talked about lack of proper diet and exercise, malnutrition, stress, and Vitamin D deficiency. As she moved Fethry’s arm to take his blood pressure, Donald started at the sight of how thin his wrists were, the bones jutting out under skin and feathers. 

Donald wasn’t able to sleep those first three nights. He didn’t go back to his houseboat, either. Instead, he camped out in an armchair in the hallway outside Fethry’s room.

Fethry had nightmares those first three nights. 

Donald never knew what they were about. But Fethry would yell, writhing in sweat soaked sheets, and plead with people that weren’t there. Donald would gather his younger cousin in his arms in an attempt to calm him, hum and sing and mutter empty reassurances. 

“I want to go home,” Fethry whimpered, one of the rare times he was intelligible. 

“You are home,” Donald responded through gritted teeth, tears burning the back of his eyes. “You’re with your family. You’re home.”

When Fethry’s fever broke, he gave no indication that he remembered Donald coming into his room at all. By then he was being constantly swarmed by the kids, Webby and Louie curious about the stranger in their home and Huey and Dewey all too eager to introduce him. They joined Fethry at his bedside at first, then when his strength started coming back they led him around the mansion and out to the garden. 

The doctor left them with strict instructions regarding Fethry’s dietary needs until he returned to a healthier weight. Beakley followed them to the letter, delivering Fethry’s meals first to his room, and then serving them at the dining table when he was well enough to join them. 

After a week he started looking better, not so drawn out and pale. He started leaving the mansion on short trips, accompanying Launchpad and the kids to the store, helping Beakley with the groceries.

Beakley in particular seemed fond of Fethry, though never in a pitying way. Donald would see them in the kitchen sometimes, Fethry talking a mile a minute about shellfish and the like as he helped her prepare dinner, and Beakley, never a woman of many words, would smile and offer the occasional input. 

Donald would hear Scrooge and Fethry debating things like philosophy and astronomy at all hours of the night, even taking Scrooge’s old telescope out onto the roof. 

Ferthry watched movies with Launchpad in his garage, and had an entire chapter dedicated to him in Webby’s compendium of the McDuck family tree. In short order, he had engrained himself into their lives. 

 

When Donald was young, he, his sister and cousins spent their childhood summers on Grandma Duck’s farm. The five-year age gap between himself and Fethry had felt more significant then, made him feeling justified in ignoring him. 

But Fethry was enthralled with Donald and everything he did from the moment he was old enough to walk. Donald had grown up with Fethry always underfoot, following him, mimicking him, wanting to spend every spare second with him. It annoyed Donald to no end, and he snapped at Fethry more than once, made him cry more than once, but he never stopped coming back. 

Even as they grew up, little of their dynamic changed. Donald was the first Fethry would turn to out of all of their cousins, if only to tell him about his day or a cool dog he saw. It was pointless and annoying, and where Fethry was involved explosions were sure to follow, but nothing Donald ever said or did was enough to get him to go away, and  _ stay  _ away. 

The last time Donald had seen him was five years ago. Fethry’s visits had grown more sporadic over the years, his latest job as a journalist taking him all over the globe at a moment’s notice. 

Donald knew Della would want her kids to get to know their cousin, but Fethry’s presence had always rankled him in a way that Gladstone’s never did. Maybe because Gladstone didn’t try to force himself into Donald’s life, didn’t ask anything of him, not his time or his attention, in the same way Fethry did. Fethry reminded him too much of the way things were before, as he sat on the carpet with Huey on his lap, looking through a big colorful atlas, and told Donald about the smuggling ring in Shanghai that his paper had tasked him with covering. 

“This job’s getting a little too dangerous for my tastes,” Fethry had said with a small laugh, though his tone became overly casual as he went on. “Uncle Scrooge mentioned something about needing someone for upkeep in another underwater lab of his. It wouldn’t be for long, and I could use the break. And besides, you know how much I love marine life! It could be fun. What do you think?”

Donald, who bristled when Scrooge was even so much as mentioned on the news, glared at the dinner he was burning and snapped, “I don’t care what you do.”

Fethry’s answering smile was small and not much of a smile at all. “Right. Sorry.”

 

Fethry didn’t seek him out anymore. 

Two weeks went by since his unexpected arrival, then three, and Donald realized that for all that his cousin spent time with the other members of their family, even the ones he had never met before, he hadn’t ever spoken to Donald. Oh they greeted each other in the hall and in the mornings at breakfast, and Fethry would ask if he could take the boys to the beach, but they didn’t talk. Or rather,  _ Fethry  _ didn’t talk, because Donald had never really responded. 

At first, Donald thought that Fethry might just be more wary of family. He spoke with Scrooge less time than he did anyone else, save Donald, and that could be attributed to simple politeness since Fethry was staying in his house. 

But then Gladstone came by for a visit because Fethry asked him too, having apparently been in contact the entire time Fethry was living in the lab. Gladstone arrived bearing gifts, new clothes for Fethry that he was lucky to get in the right size and a style that he immediately loved, as well as curios and trinkets for the kids from Paris and Milan. As Webby poured over her maps of the Parisian catacombs and Dewey donned his new beret and a terrible French accent, Donald finally admitted that there was something wrong. 

The weeks bled into the first month, and Donald had no idea what was going on in Fethry’s life, though everyone else seemed to. 

Donald and Scrooge were drinking coffee in silence one morning, as had become their habit, when Fethry burst into the kitchen, his sweater wrinkled and hat askew. They watched him raid the pantry and scramble to throw a bagel in the toaster, bemused and concerned in equal measure. 

“Are you late for something, lad?” Scrooge asked as Fethry scoured the cupboards and unearthed a thermos with an  _ “aha!” _

Fethry laughed a little, looking faintly embarrassed. “My therapy appointment. I forgot we moved it to this morning, and I got caught up helping Dewey with his homework. The bus’ll get me there a little late, but I’ll be fine.”

Scrooge waved his hand, as if brushing aside Fethry’s assurances. “Bah, you needn’t worry. You can catch a ride with Launchpad and me, I was about to head out anyway.”

Fethry thanked Scrooge as he slathered cream cheese onto his bagel and filled the thermos with coffee, moving in a whirlwind around Donald until the two were gone and he was left alone. 

He felt like he was on the outside looking in, and he didn’t know what to do about it. 

 

A month bled into two, and Fethry was moving out of the mansion. 

He’d always been good with his money, neither blessed with Gladstone’s supernaturally good luck or Donald’s supernaturally bad luck, instead almost ordinary in the scope that was their family. For the four and a half years he’d lived in the sublub, his money had just been sitting in a bank, gradually gaining interest and accumulating with every weekly paycheck. 

Fethry was able to afford a modest apartment outside of the downtown area, near Hookbill Harbor. The kids were sad to see him go, but he assuaged their worries with the promise of visiting whenever they liked. 

He and Donald had yet to have a meaningful conversation. 

Near the beginning of the second month, Fethry also took a job at Scrooge’s lab, under Gyro Gearloose. He joined Fenton Crackshell-Cabrera as an paid intern, where he specialised in marine science (someone had to keep the giant mutant krill in the bay under control after all) but with how busy the lab had become, he was soon being trained for just about everything else. 

Donald would hear secondhand about Fethry and Fenton’s blossoming friendship. When Huey started his own internship with Gyro (this one unpaid), Fenton would often accompany Fethry when dropping Huey off at home, the three of them still loudly discussing whatever uncanny discovery they had made that day. Donald would learn from Huey that Fenton was even helping Fethry learn how to drive again, lending him his car and keeping him company.

It felt like he and Fethry were celestial bodies in orbit around one other, drifting further and further with every passing rotation. Donald was afraid of reaching out. He was frustrated with Fethry for not doing so, as had been his role. 

It was on the day they celebrated Webby’s birthday that Donald finally decided to do something about it. 

After the cake and presents, while the guests were milling about on the lawn and the kids ran off to play, Donald found himself taking a break in the kitchen, nursing a beer. He hadn’t been there long when the door swung open, and Fethry stepped through. 

He was still wearing his red beanie, but one of the kids had put a party hat on over it, to comical effect. 

In the two months since his arrival at the mansion, Fethry could almost be mistaken for a different person. No longer sickly and quiet, he had filled out to a healthier weight and stood with purpose, a confidence he had never known Fethry to have before the sublab. Or maybe Donald had just never noticed. 

Fethry greeted him with a nod on his way to the fridge. At the same time he asked, “Do you know if we have any more Pep? I thought Louie was exaggerating when he said the kids would riot if we ran out, but things aren’t looking so good out there. I swear, at this point I think Gladstone took the last pack and hid it just to mess with them.” 

Donald’s hand tightened around his beer. His cousin’s back was to him, standing in front of the open fridge, and he was still talking but Donald couldn’t hear the words anymore. Instead, his mind churned and what he wanted to say bubbled up and out of his mouth, interrupting Fethry. 

“Are you going to talk to me?”

Fethry fell silent with a startling abruptness, like the flick of a switch. But he didn’t turn away from the refrigerator, and Donald watched the line of his shoulders stiffen. 

“Isn’t that what we were doing?” Fethry replied. His voice was quiet, almost careful. He turned, not quite facing Donald. 

The open refrigerator continued to hum.

“No,” Donald said, and a sense of finality settled over him, like a stone falling into the pit of his stomach. “No, it isn’t. Fethry, we haven’t had an actual conversation for five years.”

Fethry’s brow furrowed. “So? I was underwater, not on another planet. You could’ve called.”

Donald opened his mouth, closed it, and opened it again. 

Fethry sighed, a short, brusque sound that didn’t sound right coming from him. “Right, I forgot. You would’ve had to ask Scrooge.”

“That’s not—” Donald started weakly, but cut himself off. He didn’t want to lie. 

“The sublab was amazing,” Fethry said, and he turned around fully this time, the slam of the refrigerator door closing behind him an incongruous sound. His smile was grave, not the forever ebullient sight that Donald remembered. “And it was awful. Being down there, it felt like I was the last person on Earth. Half the time, I thought I was losing my mind. I would’ve killed for someone, anyone, to talk to. But all I had was my team and the guy who delivered supplies every month, and they weren’t exactly open to conversation. 

“I looked up to you, Donald. I still do.  And I know I’m weird, I know you don’t understand why I like the things that I like. But I spent almost my entire life chasing after you, trying to get you to talk to me. In the sublab, I was stuck waiting. And I realized that I shouldn’t be stuck doing all the work.”

“But…” Donald said, and he felt, pathetically, like he was grasping at straws. “What about Scrooge? You talk to him.”

Fethry’s smile was sad, and a little wry. “He reached out, Donald. He wanted to talk, and so we did. And I’ll be there for you, when you’re ready to talk.”  He started making his way across the kitchen, back to the door he had entered through. “Now, I’ve gotta run to the store for more Pep before Webby and her friend try summoning more with black magic or something.”

“Fethry,” Donald blurted, before his cousin could slip out the door. 

Fethry’s eyes, when he looked back at him, were dark and patient. 

Donald swallowed tightly. “I’ll try not to take too long.” 

“I’ll be here,” Fethry replied, and his smile was one that Donald remembered. 

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



End file.
